Henry VI (part 1)

I am afflicted with an embarrassing condition. As soon as I have parked myself in a darkened room the urge to sleep is upon me. All very well if you are enjoying a snooze at home, but not so clever if you are out in public at the theatre or cinema.

I was out with my favourite Welshman last night to see some Shakespeare performed by the Globe Theatre company. The set crammed an awful lot in a tiny space. It allowed the action to flow from battle to royal court with scaffolding creating a two-tiered view.

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No matter how good the acting or how noisy the clashing of swords and beating of drums, there was one member of the audience struggling to keep his eyes open.

Some alcohol had passed my lips but not the indecent quantities consumed by my companion, who knows no shame, but can handle his liquor. Strangely the wine at the interval perked me up so that I revelled in the double-dealing politics, manipulative aristocrats and the Yorkshire accented maid of Orleans.

It was a reet good night tha knows.

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